24 Memories of Murderers and the Murdered
by ToldInTechnicolour
Summary: My entry for Gethsemane's 24 words challenge! What effect did the tributes have on people that they met? How did a chance meeting change lives or create memories that will last a lifetime? Rated T as I don't know where this will go in the future.
1. Promise

**A/N **** This is my entry for Gethsemane's 24 words challenge. I don't really know how well it turned out but I don't think it's terrible! Forgive me if I have some details wrong, I ****_still_ don't have my book back! ConCrit is appreciated! **

**Challenge Plan- I want to do a series of one-shots about each of the tributes dying and the way they had effected the people around them.**

**Promise is about District One's female tribute, Glimmer. The POV is of the stylist who created outfits for her.**

**Promise**

Glimmer, Glimmer, Glimmer. I certainly struck gold with her as my tribute! A beauty like that could make the outfit perfect even if it were the made of the oldest, most tattered rags. I knew all the hard work I'd put into reaching District One was worth it! I'd put in years and years of hard slog, working my way up from District Nine; oh they knew I had talent, they didn't waste it on District 12 – what can you do with coal, honestly?

Well, after the opening ceremony, I berated myself, why didn't I think of that? The new stylists, Cinna and Portia, certainly had the right idea! I wished I had got there first. They probably came up with the idea whilst destroying the designs they had originally made – burning, fire, an inspiration then, flash! A showstopping outfit. The only district that came even close to this spectacle was mine. I knew my work wasn't the most amazing creation to ever grace the Earth, or even the best piece I had made, but it didn't matter. Diamonds and pearls [oh, how I love working with this district, I'd take luxury items over coal _any day_] were nothing compared to Glimmer. She simply shone, her hair luminescent in the overhead lights of my fitting room and her body, lithe and lean, providing the model for every designers dream garment.

There was something a little disconcerting about her though. It was probably the reason that my work wasn't of the best standard. Despite her obvious, radiant beauty, it was difficult to be around Glimmer for a long period of time, she was abrupt and ice cold. Her warm blonde hair masked the wintery bleakness of her inside mind. Spending time with her chilled me to the bone. I could tell that she was ruthless and wouldn't hesitate to kill even the tiniest of tributes. There was no sense of compassion from her, what I actually felt was loathing coursing through her veins. Just like a tribute should be, I reminded myself. Career's were more likely to win. Careers hated, didn't they?

I watched her in the arena, I was right, she didn't seem to care about who she killed. She was in there at the Cornucopia and getting the best of the food and weapons. For a while I thought I had a winner on my hands. I even let myself get the slightest bit hopeful, after all she seemed like a girl who didn't taken a promise lightly. She'd do anything to keep a promise. The promise in question was made to me, at her final fitting for her interview gown. 'Aphrodite, thank you for the gowns, I can't give you anything in return. Apart from a promise, I have nothing. This is why I promise you that I will win. I know you have a passion for designing and a real talent too, if I win, you will be able to design my tour outfits and you deserve that, thank you.'

Needless to say, I was taken aback by this. Then, as I turned it over in my mind more and more, I realised that she had been speaking in a flat, mechanical way. I knew that people from District One thought themselves almost as good as the Capitollers and believed that they should act like they were. Even a girl as damaged and cold as Glimmer would have had courtesy and politeness drilled into her. Even children designated to kill were taught manners. She was making this promise out of the sense it was the decent thing to do, not genuine feelings. I was still grateful.

I continued to watch the games. Glimmer, a terrible, beautiful princess battled on and on. I was glued to my set, hoping for her to be a victor mainly, I won't – deny it – so I could design more outfits. A victory tour was known as _the _best launchpad for a Capitol career in fashion. I studied her everyday, gathering more and more inspiration for what would be the most magnificent collection of clothing in the world. I was glued, fervently watching my screen until the moment she broke her promise. A broken promise. A broken woman, no, a broken child.

**A/N ****Thank you so much for getting this far in my story (: R&R?**


	2. Opal

**A/N**** Thank you for your reviews :) Sorry this update has taken so long, just been a bit busy with the start of the new school year! **

**This is about Marvel, the male tribute from District One. The POV is one of the Avox servants on the train to the Capitol.**

**Opal:**

I was caught about 2 years ago now. I was trying to escape my district after stealing some corn when the hovercraft took me. I know stealing is wrong, please, even people in the districts have a sense of what's right and wrong, we aren't the animals the Capitol take us for, if we act like animals, they have forced us to. My Father was seriously ill so he couldn't go to work in the factory and my Mother had died when I was just nine. I was the eldest boy in the family, but still too young for a job. No amount of tesserae could be really enough to feed my family, I had 3 brothers and 2 sisters. Anyway, we had taken tesserae but my Father gave us strict limits - "Kid's – I would rather see you die of starvation than become a murderer and then die in one of those infernal arenas.". I understood him – at least we'd die whole.

Ha. That's a joke. I can't die whole now, not when they've taken my tongue. That's right, I'm an Avox now. Seriously though, where did that name come from? It isn't like I can ask anyone around here. It's a shame really, if I could talk I'm sure they would have quite liked me – I was popular at school, mainly for my dry sense of humour. I'd even have the teacher fighting to suppress a laugh every now and then. It sounds like a was a just a joker, but really, you'd have been hard pressed to find anyone who cared about their family as much as I did – I would get into fights if anyone said anything about my them; being the eldest made me protective. I speak in the past tense as no-one tells an Avox anything. I have no idea how my family are, they could have all died in some freak accident – or more likely starved to death for all I know. I tried to catch a glimpse of them at the reaping (I was serving at one of the parties for the beginning of the games – sick, I know, but this is the Capitol we're talking about) but I couldn't. I was ordered away before I could see the tributes from my district so I don't even know if anyone I knew is being sent to the slaughter.

When I was taken in the hovercraft, I could see my district sprawling beneath me. It would be cliché to say that it was beautiful, more importantly, it would also be lying. I suppose, to an impartial viewer, the sparkling glints of light would look beautiful, the winding streets intriguing and quaint – but I knew what it was like down there. I even heard one of the officers guarding me whistle appreciatively. I would have reported him for improper conduct in the presence of a detainee, but they went and disabled my tongue before I could bring someone down with me. Life really isn't fair. In those criss-cross streets, people starved. Not a lot of people – my Father was exaggerating when he inferred _we_ might starve – neighbours or other people in community usually rallied around when someone was in difficult patch. They did rally for us, but we were a large family and everyone had to eat. That's why I took the grain – I couldn't let my neighbours bring themselves to the brink of starvation to feed us. The officials were harsh in those streets too. I'd been flogged once for fighting – I didn't stop, I was just a bit more careful where I did it. My friends had all been flogged too – some more than others!

They told me last week that I'd be on the District One train. They all speak to you like you're an idiot when you can't talk back. It's our tongues that don't work, not our brains. Our ears work fine too – there's no need to shout either! I packed my few possessions and parted company from the Avoxs that I had been stationed with for 2 years now. Even though we couldn't speak, we could communicate and none of us were happy about this separation. I would miss them, I knew basically nothing about any of them but I held nicknames for them in my head, for example, there was Leggy (a beautiful, cheery blonde who looked reminded me of a caged songbird – except she _couldn't_ sing) and Jaws (a young boy, who had an impressive mouth full of teeth, a shame the rest of it was so empty). They had become my family, albeit, a strange, silent family.

I had been working in the kitchens when we picked up the tributes so I was still in the dark about who we were picking up. Finally, I was told to take a tray of food to the male tribute in his cabin. My heart hammered – I really didn't want to see a boy who would, statistically, probably be killed. I knocked on the door – composed myself (people don't like their servants to have emotions) and entered.

My heart jumped, then sank to somewhere near my toes. I knew this boy was a career tribute. I knew he trained everyday, I knew this was an honour for him. However, I also knew he was scared. I knew this boy.

We had been best friends since we were tiny, our families were close and his parents had tried their hardest to send us food when we were in trouble. They had enough – considering the amount of tesserae they took – hey, a career wants to be picked, so more names entered, more gain in more than one way – but even they didn't have enough to spare for us. He wasn't a normal version of a career tribute, sure, he loved to train and honed his body to perfection in preparation for the arena, but he'd confided in me that he was scared. That had to be the ultimate curse, a career who retained the ability to feel. There were plenty of Careers in District One and not one of them seemed to feel anything. They moved like robots through the motions of school and training. Only he seemed afraid. I doubted he really wanted to kill anyone, despite him bravely insisting that he was ready. I knew him too well. I knew what becoming a murderer would do to him. When we were young boys, too young for the reaping, we'd sit in trees and shoot stones at birds out of slingshots. I will always remember the way he'd deliberately aim slightly to the side of the bird – I'd never let on, it would have embarrassed him. However, that memory would disappear before the one of the way his face crumpled when he hit a bird did. After that first kill, we stopped flinging stones.

Marvel still hadn't looked around, his shoulders were slumped and he was staring out of the window at the scenery blurring by. I placed his tray on the table, it was then he looked around. His eyes drifted over my face, glassy, unseeing, and then came the moment of clarity. They shot back to my face and widened, he wouldn't have known what had happened to me, no-one would have. Maybe he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

A single solitary tear rolled down his cheek. It was a swirl of so many emotions, joy to see me again, horror at what they Capitol had done to me, self-pity for his situation and sadness that we would never be able to joke and talk again. It reminded me of an opal stone which contains so many colours mixed in one. It was an opal tear (hey, our district is luxury items, I'm allowed to make gem references in times of crisis).

An opal tear on my diamond of a friend. My diamond of a friend whose corpse I was sure would decompose to a precious gem.

**A/N**** Hmm. I'm not convinced I like the way this is worded. It seems a bit messy to me, but hey, it's finished! I know we don't know if the Avox tongues are cut out, but it worked in my story, so I'm saying they are!**

**Please R&R – even if it is to tell me how bad it is. **


	3. Chair

**A/N**** Hello again! Wow, two updates in two days! Thank you again for all the reviews, I will get back to you and they are much appreciated. This might not be as good as usual, I'm a little sleepy but wanted to get this out today. **

**This is about Clove, the girl from District Two. The POV is of the mentor of District Two.**

**Chair**

I am the only one left. The only one. Great. Not only have I survived the arena, but I have outlived my fellow survivors from the district. The numbers had been dwindling as the years went by, and now it's just me. My first year of mentoring alone. Yay. Bully for me.

I don't like this job. Simple. I have better stuff to do with my time – I lived through the arena so surely I should have time to live my life how I want to. No chance. I've never liked any of the tributes in the previous years. They have always been either cowardly, snivelling children or robotic, unfeeling Careers. Not one of them have shown a great amount of promise – most have been slaughtered at the Cornucopia. Pathetic. I've seen three starvers, two self-impalers [really, how do you kill yourself on your own weapon?] and one suicide. Eugh. I've found the best coping strategy is not to get too close to them. If you allow yourself any hint of compassion or fondness, it comes back to bite you when they die. They always die.

Yes. I knew it. Another set of Career brats. The boy is as bloodthirsty as any I have ever encountered, all he seems interested in is "Pulverising those losers" and I just can't get through to him that survival techniques are important. If anything has gone in that thick-skull of his, he certainly hasn't shown it. At least he'll provide some entertainment, he's too tough to die at the Cornucopia – something to keep me going through the compulsory viewing. The girl, Clove, well, she really is something. I don't know whether that's a good or a bad thing. She's certainly prepared to kill, like any good Career, but she seems to have a brain as well. And a fully functioning one at that! I even think she might still have some emotions tucked under that tough façade she presents to the world. What am I thinking? She's just another unfeeling Career, albeit an abnormally alert one.

Damn. Damn damn damn! Those sickening tributes from Twelve have just stolen the show. "Get out of my way!" I hate these backstage tunnels, always cramped, always stuffy – not good for a migraine! Why, oh why did I not think of the star-crossed lovers card?! Sure to hook a few romantics in the audience, and the richest place – the Capitol – has the most gullible people just waiting to be drawn in. A little romance will also make the games more exciting viewing – damn Haymitch – he knows what he's doing! Why are these tunnels so long? Even at the pace I'm going, it seems to be taking forever to get back to the dressing rooms.

Finally! I swing open the door – well, swing isn't the word, more like punch, I'm surprised it's still on its hinges, 'You aren't in the arena now!' I have to remind myself. Control the anger. Okay, breathe, why is there someone in my chair? Why is that someone shaking in anger and hunched over?

"Get out of my chair now!" - hey, I suppose I'm not the master of my temper after all. Eugh, I need a painkiller. The figure looks up and glares at me – yes, glares, at me. Oh. It's Clove! That tribute needs to be careful or she won't make it into the arena – I get cranky when I have a migraine.

Well, that was...eye opening. Here it is, the irony isn't lost on me, I have a love story of my own here. Clove loves Cato. He doesn't know this, imagine the bombshell that could have been onstage. She didn't want that though, that's why she only told me now. It seems to have shaken her, the love story from Twelve. Seems there are some feelings under there. I'm also not allowed to tell Cato, that would make it awkward in the arena – great. A gem of a ploy and I can't even use it. And she's made me do it again. I've started to care for her. To hope she gets out alive. Damn that Clove, the female tribute from District Two.

**A/N**** I tried to make her a little crazy, who isn't after surviving the games? Anyway, I'm not loving the way it seems so abrupt in the middle. Oh well, there are twenty-one more one-shots to improve :)**

**R&R please? :)**


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